


Slow Burn

by DiddiAskew



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29328153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiddiAskew/pseuds/DiddiAskew
Summary: Two years post-513, Justin "accidentally" falls for another guy in New York. A year later, what will happen when he returns to Pittsburgh for a family emergency and runs into Brian?
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> 3   
> By Discothequey  
> Pairing: Brian/Justin  
> Warnings: Justin/Other, minor character death, angst
> 
> Guys, I don't know where this came from. I just started writing and couldn't stop. XD

###

I didn't mean for it to happen. It was just one of those things, you know? 

There was cheap wine, smooth tunes, a pile of burgundy pillows smack dab in the center of Alexie's rug... And then there was us. He was so raw, so fucking rugged, burning up under my fingertips as I stroked down his chest like whispers against the shell of an ear. I felt... I felt wicked, fucking crazy, like the earth could rip apart and swallow us whole and it wouldn't mean a goddamn thing because I was there and he was there and we were together, moving wavelike on the carpet.

"Justin," he murmured.

"Lex," I breathed.

And we collapsed, spilling everywhere, falling apart. My heart thudded, guts twisting and untwisting so much I almost vomited. 

#

That was a while ago. The action before the reaction, cause before the effect. 

Brian was indifferent...told me to do whatever the fuck I wanted...said we were both free agents so what the fuck did it matter whom I fucked? I was in New York, he was in Pittsburgh, so it was only natural that I'd find someone else. Only, he didn't say it exactly like that, but you know Brian, so you surely know exactly what he said. 

"What're you still doing here?" He'd asked, soft like pillows against my cheek. Then I was forced to stare at him, conflicted, while he downed half a bottle of Jim Beam, shot after shot, before telling me to get the fuck out.

And I left, too. Went straight to the bedroom, grabbed my shitty suitcase from where it sat, half-filled with the clothing I hadn't yet dirtied during my week's visit, shoved my cum-stained sweats and whatever else I could find into the bag, and left. I went straight to Daphne's, but her fuck of the week was apparently not so much a "fuck of a week" but a "fuck for a while," so I resulted in crashing at Mom's place, braving embarrassment and awkward conversation with Calvin or Brent or whoever's cradle she was robbing at the time.

I flew back to New York two days later, lungs blackened with tar from the cigarettes I'd ingested by the pack, hand fucking on fire from defacing sketchpad after sketchpad with angry, for-shit depictions that could've possibly gotten me arrested had they fallen into the wrong hands.

I'd done it again, fucked things up, but what else was new? That was all I ever did...all I'd ever done. I messed up. I painted such pretty little pictures with yellows and soft greens, and then I did something completely, utterly fucking stupid, and ended up tossing jar after jar of black onto the canvases. Those paintings were always so damn difficult to paint, so time-consuming, so annoying and painful and brutal...fuck, I stayed up all night every night working like hell to perfect them, to make them presentable enough to hang. But I always ended up throwing darts at the final products until they were unrecognizable, hole-filled, and ripped to shreds.

#

New York was cold as ever, as was my apartment. The heat was out again, the technician was a fuckwad, and my coffee practically had ice cubes. But Alexie was there, warm like always, that scruffy, morning beard framing his jaw in such an undeniably sexy way that my dick was hard before I was half-finished with my eggs.

"Come here, you," he whispered, scooting back from the table and holding his arms wide. I trashed my scrambled eggs because they were making me a little nauseous anyway, and stepped into him. He kissed my ear and stroked strong, tan fingers through my hair.

I just stood there, feeling him touch me, leaning into that touch, trying to rid my mind of everything and everyone but that gorgeous man and his hot, hot skin. We ended up fucking in the chair, right there at the crappy little kitchen table, and all I tasted was Alexie spit, Alexie lips, and Alexie neck.

#

He was a quote, unquote, "journalist" for The Globe - not that Globe, but another - but it was really his job to be the bitch and grab coffee for his coworkers while splitting his time between proofreading the latest celebrity gossip and answering phones. I met him by chance one day outside Starbucks, when I'd accidentally dropped my keys and he'd retrieved them.

He'd been so nice, snatching up my key chain and dangling it in front of my face with such a beautiful grin. I'd told him "thank you" and he'd offered to buy me coffee, and the rest, as they say...

Alexie, Alexander Schwartz, was part of a long line of New York socialites. His father was an infamous womanizing whore, his grandfather was the original owner of one of the most popular nightclubs on Bleecker, his great grandfather was the disgustingly spoiled son of Hiltonesque parents, and so on and so forth. But Alexie was different. Due to his low-end job and lack of pussy-chasing ways, he'd been thrown on his ass, dumped like garbage, the queer son of Rolland Schwartz. 

But he was the only son of Rolland Schwartz, the only child, and queer or not, the Last Will and Testament spoke for itself. Alexie came into money at the age of thirty-one after his father scored a bullet to the head. 

With that money, he'd bought a posh uptown loft, a few Armani suits, some Italian leather... And I know what it sounds like to you. It sounds like Alexie was Brian, but not. Honestly, there are probably a million different points to back up your theory, coupled with dozens of psychological studies about how human beings cling to the familiar when faced with separation. You could probably win in an argument, Dr. Phil would believe you over me, but to tell the truth, it wasn't like that. 

Alexie smiled a lot. He touched my cheek, right near my lips, and loved on me until I told him what was wrong. He always kissed me goodnight.

And I know what you're thinking now, about how he was just another Ethan and I was being stupid again, being blind again, not seeing Brian's beauty and kindness. But it wasn't like that, either. I loved Brian, still loved him. I was over my insecurities...didn't give two shits about whether or not Brian and I made love every night as opposed to fucking like sex-starved maniacs, or whether or not he sat and held me when I was low instead of asking me what the fuck was wrong and rolling his eyes if it was something stupid. I didn't care. I was over it.

Alexie was something different altogether. He wasn't strong, he wasn't hardworking or all that interesting when it came down to the bare-bones reality. He liked jazz clubs and cigarette smoke, but he drank shit wine and was too shy to sing in front of me. He had no good friends, no pets, no loving family, but he was kind and generous. 

When I was lonely, working late at my shithole studio, the creaking floorboards moaning like the voices of a million ghosts, he'd stop by and talk to me while I painted. I never told him that he was getting on my nerves, breaking my concentration, because wasn't it the thought that counted? He was the one face in the millions of New York faces that kept me slightly sane within the confines of the concrete jungle.

I think that was why we meshed. That was how I kept loving Brian Kinney while dating and emotionally investing myself in Alexander Schwartz. Alexie gave me what I needed, mostly, and though he didn't have all I wanted, he saved me airfare and painful goodbyes.

#

It was almost a year into our relationship when Lex invited me to move in with him. It was only practical, really, because even though I pulled in a large enough salary from both my art and part-time job at the gallery to keep me off the streets, my apartment was a piece of crap. The furniture was moldy, hosting mysterious stains which gave off ominous smells, and there wasn't a thing in the flat that couldn't use a good repair job.

It took three days to make the big move, and on the final day, Alexie suggested we celebrate by picnicking on the Great Lawn in Central Park. It wasn't a romantic gesture, honestly, but just something we liked to do when the weather was warm. I brought my sketchbook and he brought a good novel, and we ate and laid around in the warm, dusting sunshine. 

"How's the book?" I asked, tapping his hand with my pencil. I rolled on the blanket until we were side by side.

"Great, other than the fact that I have a sneaking suspicion that the author's a liar."

"Of course he's a liar. There was a lawsuit a couple years ago where the family the Finches are modeled after sued for defamation of character and fabrication." Alexie was reading Augusten Burroughs' Running With Scissors. I hadn't read it yet, but I liked being in the know.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You never asked."

We kissed briefly, then went back to our perspective activities. I was sketching a beautiful family a couple yards away. The mom lounged around on a large parrot beach towel, rolling her capri pants into shorts before lying back to soak in some rays. Her husband bounced a blonde toddler on his knee, giving the child loving kisses on the cheek and mouth whenever she made a cute facial expression.

I really wanted to hurry through the sketch and present it to the family as a gift, but I never had the chance. I must've fallen asleep sooner or later, because after a while of furious sketching, I had a jump in memory and the next thing I knew, I was yawning and stretching, arm damp with drool. The family was gone.

"Hey, Sleepyhead," Alexie whispered, rolling on top of me and pressing his face close. I smelled roast beef and mustard on his breath as he kissed me slow and steady.

"How long was I out?"

"Not long." He bit at my ear, then rolled off. "But long enough for me to have a stud or two in the restroom."

I rolled my eyes at him and smiled, almost wishing he wasn't just bullshitting me for kicks. Alexie never tricked, and considering I still did on occasion, our relationship was often a little awkward. It wasn't that I was incapable of being monogamous, but more that I wasn't interested.

Lex propped his head up on his arm and stared down at me, dark curly hair hanging in his face. "What do you say we go home, run a nice bubble bath, bring out the champagne..." He walked his fingers up my arm.

"It's too hot for a bath."

"I'll show you hot." Alexie leaned in and kissed my neck, tonguing the skin in an overtly forward fashion that forced my stomach into knots. I dragged my fingers through his curls, those soft, soft curls, and rubbed at his back. He sucked my skin up between his lips, leaving plummy marks across my neck, some that would fade seconds later, some that would take days.

I wanted to get into it, yearned for the hardness in my pants that told me we were good, we were okay, I had the hots for that man and he was seconds from getting me off. But I couldn't help but feel a bit relieved when my cell phone rang, interrupting our fumbles.

However, once I answered, I wished we were back at it again with no interruptions, squeezing and stroking and giving the heterosexual couples on the lawn around us a nice little show.

It was Molly. She was frantic, shouting something about Mom and cars and and hospitals...barely coherent. All I heard loud and clear was "You have to...you have to get down here! You have to," and there were no questions, no second thoughts.

Two hours later I was on a plane to Pittsburgh, boneless and burning up from the inside.

###

They said it was a side collision with a delivery truck. Mom had roll-stopped at a stop sign. She hadn't seen the Volkswagen coming up to her right, so she'd swerved to miss it, instead colliding with Mr. Fed Ex. 

There was blood everywhere. The airbags had been faulty, Mom had smashed her skull into the steering wheel, her legs and ribcage had been crushed. She'd punctured a lung, ruptured her spleen, and everywhere there was bone and ripped skin.

"Thank God she was wearing her seatbelt," the doctor had murmured hours before she died on the operating table, when he'd thought she still might pull through. I personally thought it may've been better if she had crashed through the windshield and died instantly on the pavement, instead of suffering for six hours with a broken everything and a bleeding everywhere. It would've saved me from having to see her, saved my sister, only seventeen, from crying by her bed, staining her yellow sun dress with blood. 

Dad came at about midnight to pick up Molly, and stood right there in the corridor, staring at me for a long time. Mom had already been declared dead, and I was alone, curling inward in an uncomfortable pleather chair. No one had come to see her die except for Molly and I. We didn't call anyone else, we didn't think to... For all we knew, everyone was asleep.

I glanced up at Dad, feeling nothing, looking like hell. I knew my eyes were bloodshot and my nose was pink and swollen from crying. I knew I had blood smears on my arms, blood that had already turned brown. But he looked exactly the same as always. Blond hair receding, blue eyes so much like mine... I suddenly felt sick and had to run to the bathroom to vomit. When I returned, Dad and Molly were gone.

#

I stayed in the ICU waiting room all night because I had nowhere else to go. Daphne was in California with her fuck of who knows how long, soaking up sun and having sex in her friend's beach house. I thought of calling Debbie, but I knew for a fact that all the Novotnys hated me. I'd stopped receiving holiday cards and spontaneous "get your ass down here!" phone calls after that night with Brian.

Alexie called in the morning, checking to see how things were, and I couldn't say anything. I just started crying silently into the phone and ended up having to step outside where all the employees went to smoke. I slapped at my coat pockets for a pack, but I was out.

"Want me to come?" Lex asked, his voice velvety smooth in my ear.

When I didn't answer, he simply asked for the name of the hospital and said he'd be there before lunch. That should have made me feel better than it did.

#

He arrived after lunch to find me working on my second pack of cigarettes out back. I'd broken down and walked to the sketchy gas station a block away where the woman behind the cash register asked to see my ID even though I was twenty-fucking-five years old.

After pulling me into his tall, lean body, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down my back, and whispering in my ear how everything was going to be okay and he was there for me and I didn't have to worry, we took a cab to the Marriott and got a room.

Alexie ordered room service and pigged out while I stared at the shitty palm tree painting above the TV stand, thinking about all the crap I was going to have to get in order. It was up to me, wasn't it? The oldest child? Had my grandparents been called? Aunts, uncles, cousins? Was I going to have to pick out her casket and headstone, or would I have her cremated? Was that my decision? What about the will? Did she have one?

After a while, I started freaking out. I walked outside on the balcony overlooking the Allegheny and collapsed, dropping to my knees on the concrete platform and holding my face in my hands. I didn't cry, just sort of sobbed, which trust me, is not the same thing. I couldn't find any tears. I desperately wanted a cigarette or fifty, but Alexie had taken them from me when I'd started throwing up from smoking so much on an empty stomach, so all I could do was whimper and hit things.

"Justin, Justin," Lex murmured, stepping outside with me and crouching down. He put his arms around my shoulders and tried to provide consolation, but nothing helped. I told him to fucking go away and to stop eating like a goddamn glutton and slammed the balcony door closed.

#

Sometime within the two hours I was outside, I made a call to my Grammy Palmer in Charleston, South Carolina, trying to act older than seven and not cry like a wimp. But the moment she answered and told me she knew about Mom, I just let the tears flow. I hadn't talked to her in years, but she didn't seem to care...just told me she was making the trip up with her husband and kids and they'd be in Pittsburgh around dinnertime...told me not to worry because we'd work together to arrange everything...told me she loved me and couldn't wait to see how handsome and grown up I was.

I called Molly, too, but we didn't talk much, simply cried back and forth until I decided I had to be a strong older brother and hung up before I got her too out of whack.

###

The funeral was Monday at noon.

We'd ended up having a standard burial, even though it cost more money, because Molly wanted something tangible and beautiful to visit, and to tell the truth, so did I.

Alexie stuck around to help prepare, but had to leave bright and early Monday morning for New York, as he was apparently desperately needed at work to run errands or something stupid. But I was beyond giving a shit. I'd woken up that morning, eyes swollen, in the bed my sister and I had shared in Grammy and Papa's hotel room, while Lex had woken up alone.

Debbie and Emmett showed up at the funeral, even though no one had made the official call to the Novotny camp. 

"You're going to be okay," Debbie whispered in my ear, squeezing me so tight I thought my ribs were going to break. Her makeup was smeared from tears and she smelled so much like Italian food and her that I almost started crying all over again. "You hear me? You're going to be okay."

I let her hug and kiss me as much as she wanted...listened to her tell me that she practically helped raise me...that I had a home and a family with her no matter what...felt her press lipstick marks onto my cheeks and even my mouth once, and I didn't even stop to think that it was the least bit strange.

Emmett held me close and cried all over my shoulder, and I couldn't clear my head enough to even ask how he was doing.

#

After the funeral, I stuck around, telling Grammy and Papa and everyone else to just go on back to the community center and eat pie and mini sandwiches...said I wasn't hungry, even though I hadn't eaten enough to keep me from shaking with low blood sugar in four days.

I collapsed in the dirt in front of Mom's headstone, where grass would eventually grow, covering all evidence that there was a once-living person six feet under. My pants turned red-brown, but it would all come out in dry cleaning, and anyway, it didn't matter. 

I couldn't shake the image of Mom lying on that gurney, bleeding everywhere, face swollen and misshapen beyond recognition. I wondered if that was what I'd looked like that night. Prom night.

I started praying after a while, even though I wasn't sure I believed in God. I wanted to believe in God, because believing in God gave me hope that Mom was in Heaven...not just in the casket below where she'd eventually disintegrate to nothing.

#

"Why didn't you tell me?" A voice sounded from behind, scaring me so badly I almost needed a change of pants. My heart pounded a mile a minute as I unbowed my head and sat up straight, as if caught doing something wrong. I couldn't decide whether or not I should turn around and face it...face him.

I shrugged my shoulders and stared down at my dirty knees. 

It was silent from then on, and I thought he'd left until I stood up and saw him out the corner of my eye. He was wearing his usual work wear, as if he'd left Kinnetik on a lunch break, and I was amazed at how much he hadn't changed.

"Need a ride somewhere?"

I told him "no" and walked off.

He let me.

Slow Burn (2/3)  
Author: discothequey  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Brian/Justin  
Warnings: Justin/Other, minor character death, angst  
Summary: Two years post-513, Justin "accidentally" falls for another guy in New York. A year later, what will happen when he returns to Pittsburgh for a family emergency and runs into Brian?

Here's the next part. :) Enjoy!

###

I ended up walking to the park, but saw a couple people from PIFA there I knew, so I turned around and left before they spotted me, the crazy man in a dirt-stained suit. I went to the hotel, changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and ended up sitting on one of the beds and staring blankly at the wall. Someone kept calling my cell phone but I ignored it, blindly switching it on silent and shoving it back in my pocket.

I needed to get back to New York soon, before Malia from the gallery had my head. I was her only co-worker, and admittedly, the gallery was hell to run solo, so without thinking, I went down to the hotel lobby and booked a US Airlines flight to JFK for the next morning. Pittsburgh had nothing for me but painful memories, so the sooner I was gone, the better.

#

Molly and Grammy came back to the hotel an hour later because Molly was pitching a fit. She'd dropped a glob of spaghetti sauce on her dress and freaked out from there, running to the bathroom to scream and cry.

I wrapped her up in my arms, even though she was almost as tall as me, and held on until the shakes stopped. She looked up at me with her blue eyes and fading freckles and told me she didn't know what she was going to do.

"You're going to finish high school, go to college, get married, and have a family of your own," I told her quietly, even though I knew it wasn't going to help the situation. She started crying again, and I just cried with her. Grammy came over and held us both. She smelled like White Diamonds and pimento cheese.

"Jennifer was my oldest," she whispered into our hair as if we didn't know. "I was only seventeen when I had her, and though she wasn't planned, she was a precious gift from God."

I closed my eyes at the mention of God.

"She loved you two," Grammy murmured, crying. "When she found out she was pregnant with you, Justin, she was so happy she started dancing in the doctor's office. And Molly, you were a shock. Thirty-four was old to have a baby back in the nineties, but she wanted a little girl so bad..." I felt my sister smile.

Grammy told us story after story of Mom...ones that made us laugh, ones that made us cry. Eventually, I pulled from the group embrace and went out on the balcony to smoke because it was just too, too much. 

I checked my messages and had two from Malia...one asking where the hell I was, the other apologizing for my loss and allowing me the rest of the week off. Lex must've called her. He'd left a message, too, telling me he loved me and hoped the funeral went all right, and I honestly was two inches away from calling him back and telling him just how fucking fabulously the funeral went, but I refrained. We were already rocky, there was no point in screwing ourselves further.

#

I headed over to the Diner around dinnertime, but I don't even know why I went. It was stupid, fucking stupid, really, because I knew Brian was going to be there. He was sitting at the usual booth with Michael and Ted, talking animatedly around a turkey sandwich.

I walked right by their booth and snatched an empty one in the far back, not daring to so much as glance their way.

Kiki took my order, fawned over how cute I was, and told me she'd missed seeing me around. I stupidly told her I was in town for my mother's funeral, and she gave me a wide-eyed look and insisted my dinner was on the house.

"Haggling for free food?" Brian asked, sliding into the booth across from me and giving me a look that told me he was just teasing.

"That's pretty low, Asshole," I told him, opening up packets upon packets of Splenda and pouring them into my Earl Gray.

"Would you like some tea with that cancer-causing sugar substitute?"

"You know, I didn't ask you to come over here, so go away if you're just going to be an ass." I nodded in thanks to Kiki, who sat my grilled chicken salad in front of me and handed me a bill for zero dollars and zero cents.

Brian looked at me carefully for a minute, then climbed out of the booth and went back to where he was originally seated. I let out a sigh of relief, only to draw it back in again when I realized he was just grabbing his food and walking back toward my booth with it.

"You never answered my question," he said, setting his half-eaten sandwich and glass of water on the table. 

"What question?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I munched on my salad for a while because I was really very hungry, and then answered, "Why would I?" I ignored Brian's slightly taken-aback expression, because he could just deal.

He apparently had nothing to say to that, which was just as well, because I had nothing to say to him in general. I finished up my salad silently, while he pretended to nibble at the remnants of his sandwich but mostly stared at me.

"I'm going," I told him, pulling a ten dollar bill out of my wallet and slapping it down on the table, because I wasn't accepting handouts from anyone. 

He looked up at me, took a long sip of water, and nodded. "Where're you staying?"

"Does it matter?"

"What's with the attitude, Sunshine?"

I almost slapped him, but settled on walking out instead. 

Sometime during my bus ride back to the hotel, it occurred to me that I really had no reason to be pissed at him. He'd done nothing wrong. It was all me.

#

When I arrived at the Marriott, I realized that Molly had gone home to dad's so it was just Grammy, Papa, and I. The moment I stepped into the room and saw the two of them snuggled up in bed together, watching American Idol with wrinkly, tear-streaked faces, I decided to pretend I was just coming back for a change of clothes, and then left again. I headed to Babylon, not because I necessarily wanted to fuck, but because I very necessarily needed to do something.

The coast was clear as far as the gang went, but the dance floor sure wasn't. Guys upon guys, often literally, spilled across the club in pigments of rainbow and glitter. It was early yet, hardly ten, so there were no particularly fuckworthy prospects, but I was up for dancing, at least.

Two beefy men pulled me in between them, rubbing their half-nude bodies against my frame, grasping at my hips and licking at my neck. I didn't know why I was doing it...it wasn't something I usually did since Alexie came along, because there was always the guit and the lies I'd have to tell if he asked if I'd fucked around without really fucking around. Sticking my cock up another guy's ass was different than being licked and fondled and played with like a catnip mouse. With the former, I was getting a thrill, with the latter, I was being the pretty little slut Lex despised.

As I danced with the men, felt mouths sucking my earlobes, hands brushing my ass and crotch, I began to laugh. Stud #1 and Stud #2 took my glee as encouragement, when really it was just release.

I pulled away when they tried to tug me into the back room, because even though they were hot, they weren't that hot, and to tell the truth, I wasn't all that horny. 

"Where you going, Baby?" Stud #2, a pretty black man with gray-blue eyes, asked. I shrugged, because honestly, I didn't know. 

But I made my way over to the bar for the time being.

#

After four shots of Chivas Regal and the request for two more, I slapped down a wad of bills, only to have them picked up by an unknown hand and shoved right back in the pocket of my jeans.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked, turning to see the only person I'd expected to see, frankly. He looked at me with sober eyes and a mouth that was a straight raspberry line.

"Can't I use my power of authority to give my friend drinks on the house?"

"No." I took my shots and downed them in seconds, before pulling the money right back out of my pocket and personally handing them to Gorge. "And why are you here so early? Losing your edge?"

"Again with the attitude. Tsk, tsk." Brian grabbed my forearms and turned me around so I was facing him. "One might ask you the same thing."

I told him to fuck off and pulled from his grasp. "Felt like dancing."

"Without your wittle boyfriend?"

I walked away, back onto the dance floor with newfound Chivas social lubrication, and started grinding against a hot blond with a lip ring. Brian followed, grabbing a stud of his own, but keeping close enough to speak.

"So where is he?"

"I didn't know that was any of your business."

"Oh, it became my business."

I pushed harder against the trick, reaching around behind and grasping at his ass. He didn't have much...mostly felt like a pair of steamrolled kaiser buns...but right then, I didn't give a fuck.

"Did he dump you?" The corner of Brian's mouth was wet with his own spit, hair thick and matted with sweat and glitter. His grin was wicked.

"He's back in New York," I murmured, just humoring the asshole. "Had to work." I grasped my trick's wrist and led his flat ass and bleached hair into the back room. If he thought it odd that I was having a walking argument with another man who was, at that moment, following us with his own trick, he didn't say anything...simply chested himself to the wall and yelled for me to fuck the motherfucking shit out of him.

Brian pushed his brunet onto his knees and stared a hole right through me as I pulled my cock out and sheathed it with the condom I'd pinched from my back pocket. Once Blondie prepared himself, I shoved in so hard I almost pulled back and apologized. Brian groaned beside me, Brunet sucking him off like it was going out of style.

"I taught him everything he knows," Brian whispered to my trick between moans, palming chestnut hair and seizing up in pleasure.

"And he let me practice on him daily," I told his, before pounding mine harder and harder, reaching around to stroke his cock. He was leaking all over the wall in ribbons.

"You fucked...Brian...Kinney?"

"Only when he asked...nicely."

Brian told me to shut the fuck up and moved a bit away, tugging his trick by the hair, before seeming to think better of it and scooting in close once more. He reached over and grabbed my hand.

"...the fuck are you doing?" I stopped thrusting, twisting my fingers in attempts to free them from such a strong grip, but I couldn't. He squeezed. "Get away!"

"No."

Fuck, I didn't want to. Everything inside me kept screaming for me to leave...go back to the hotel...sleep in my bed in the same room as Grammy and Papa before waking up the next morning and leaving for New York. I didn't want to, and yet I did more than anything, so I neglected to protest even the slightest bit as Brian shoved his trick away and moved behind me.

He pressed his lips to my neck and whispered for me to fuck my trick harder and harder, and he wrapped his arms around my waist and held on as I moved in and out of Blondie, more and more and faster and faster before coming so hard I actually drooled and slumped.

Brian backed away while I cleaned and zipped up, then shoved a finger through my belt loop and tugged me along behind him as he swiftly left the area.

###

We didn't speak the entire way to the loft, other than to murmur something about being hot and wanting the air conditioner turned on, or "Thanks, Brian, for rollstopping at that stop sign...let's hope there are no UPS trucks around."

He'd looked at me strangely after that, but didn't comment.

When we arrived at the loft, we flipped on lights one by one before each having a beer in silence. Everything in the room was the same...too much so. I'd changed...why hadn't Brian? But then I looked around some more and discovered that he had. Pillows which were once red were now gray...the coffee table hosted a huge book on David Bowie...the TV was new altogether. He had new lines on his face, a slightly different haircut.

"Tell me," he said after our bottles were mostly empty and wet drink rings were forming on the kitchen counter.

"Car wreck, fluid to the brain, broken...everything. What else is there to tell?"

"Not that." He pushed at my chest with his index finger and I scooted away. The barstool scraped against the wooden floor. "Why didn't you let me know?"

"There was nothing you could've done," I told him, repeating familiar words from long ago.

"I could've gone to the funeral."

"You could've gone to the funeral anyway. It's not like you didn't read her obituary in the paper or hear about it from Deb."

He nodded, because it was true.

I climbed off the barstool, trudged across the loft, and relocated to the sofa. Brian followed and sat beside me.

"It happened...so fucking fast. One minute I was having a goddamn...picnic in Central Park, the next I was washing blood from my face in the ICU bathroom while my sister was being treated for a panic attack. And Mom was dead." I teared up a bit but didn't allow myself to cry. It wasn't worth swollen eyes.

Brian didn't say anything, which was good, because if he had, I probably would've flown off the handle. He stared at me for a moment and then looked away.

But after a while, he grabbed my hand and laced his fingers through mine. I didn't try to pull away this time.

#

"So where're you staying? Minus the attitude."

He needn't clarify. I was too worn out to bitch. "My grandparents have a room at the Marriott with an extra bed. That's where I've been sleeping."

"Fun."

We looked at each other some more, then Brian sneaked a peek at his watch and stood, saying he was going to take a shower and do some work. "You can stay here if you want," he murmured with a shrug.

"On the couch," I said, nodding my thanks.

"You know where the blankets are."

###

I didn't know how exhausted I was until I ended up passing out at around midnight while Brian was still in the shower. His blankets smelled like me, still...like sleepy Justin who fell asleep on the couch after long shifts at the diner...like Brian and Justin who were up all night watching the X-Men movies back-to-back and brought blankets out because it was cold. I wondered if he'd washed them.

At one point, I didn't know the time - didn't know if it was before or after Brian had gone to bed for the first time - I woke to a kiss on the cheek. Then a kiss on the nose.

"Hey," I whispered, voice rumbly and breath not too minty fresh. I turned my head away from Brian's lips, too afraid to give in.

"Hi."

I was too afraid to give in, but I let him grab my hand and drag me into the bedroom...was too afraid to give in, but I let him pull off my shirt and push me onto the unmade bed...was too fucking afraid to give in, but I let him crawl half on top of my body and kiss me for a while.

"Can't," I finally murmured, pulling out of the kiss and staring up at him in the blue light. "I have a boyfriend."

"Didn't stop you before."

God, my heart hurt.

Brian moved from my lips to my neck, kissing me lightly, tonguing the flesh in the way I knew Alexie couldn't...never could. He sucked at the skin below my jawline, surely giving me a hickey. I froze.

"I said I can't," I breathed again, reaching up to rub at the mark on my neck. I could already feel the beginnings of the bruise.

Brian pulled away, climbing out of bed altogether. He went into the bathroom, shut the door, and didn't come back for a long time.

#

"I'm sorry," I said when he returned. "I...want to, I really do. But..."

"Whatever."

We must've fallen asleep after that, because when I woke for the second time that night, the digital alarm clock said four-sixteen.

I wasn't sure why I'd woken, because Brian seemed to be dead to the world, breathing sharply out his nose like a puppy does when it's dreaming. His arms were folded to his chest, head resting on one of his open palms. 

I rolled toward him, and it was either natural instinct or he wasn't asleep after all, because when I was close enough to feel body heat, he unfolded his arms and wrapped them tightly around me, pulling my chest to his and kissing me so hard I felt dizzy.

He pinned me to the mattress, kissing my mouth and neck and licking my ears, and I almost started crying for some unexplainable reason. I think I truly shed a tear at one point, but I don't believe Brian noticed...he was too busy rubbing me through my boxer briefs and breathing harshly against my lips...too busy kissing me like a fifteen-year-old and then kissing me like a grown man...too busy fumbling so blindly for the lube that he ended up knocking it off the bedside table and into the trashcan.

When it was time for him to enter me, he did it slowly. I hiccuped a little, eyelashes damp, and kissed at his mouth whenever it was at near enough proximity to mine.

"When...do you leave?" He asked between kisses and thrusts, fisting my hair so gently I could barely even feel his touch.

I wrapped my legs more tightly around him. "In about...six hours."

"No," Brian mouthed against my cheek before dragging his lips across to meet mine in a lip-lock. "Miss your flight...stay here...I'm not done with you."

I told him "okay" before losing myself to bliss, coming almost painfully hard and crying the whole time, but we both knew that I'd be on that US Airlines flight to New York at ten o'clock sharp.

Slow Burn (3/3)

Author: discothequey  
Rating: R  
Warnings: Justin/Other, minor character death, angst

Here's the last installment of Slow Burn. This is a short little fic, and I know there's tons more that can be done with the storyline, but I think I like it the way it is. It's tiny, but it's also hopeful. The story of a break-up and make-up.

And honestly, I do need to stress the angst warning. It wasn't supposed to turn out this angsty, but it did. It has a positive, hopeful B/J ending, though, so no worries.

Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

###

The plane ride was far too short. All I thought about was what I'd done and what it'd meant and what Alexie would do about the purpley-red half dollar sized mark on my neck. He'd flip...totally freak out, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted him to, or whether I just wanted him to forgive my mistake and move on. Only, I wasn't entirely sure it was a mistake. Mistakes are things you shouldn't do...things you regret. To be honest, at that moment, stepping off the plane into Alexie's arms seemed more like a mistake than the three hour slow sex marathon with minimal commercial breaks I'd had with Brian.

But I didn't have to worry about being met at the airport with Lex's warm embrace, because when the pilot notified us that it was okay to switch on cell phones, I'd received a text message stating that he wasn't able to take off work after all. There was also a message from Grammy, telling me to have a safe flight and that she loved me, and I wasn't sure whether or not I liked our newfound closeness and her ability to send text messages. Thinking of her only reminded me of Mom.

#

When I arrived at the apartment, I unpacked my luggage, and since I was off work for the rest of the week, spent an hour or two online, checking my email, chatting with Daphne on AIM about how I was doing splendidly... Brian sent me a message while I was fixing myself a sandwich in the kitchen, but I didn't reply.

#

When Alexie got home late that afternoon, he hugged me and told me I smelled good. I almost told him I smelled like Brian's shower gel, but refrained. When he tried to push my strategically placed hair away from my face during dinner, I pulled back and told him I had a stomach ache, walking swiftly to the bathroom to rub more cream on my hickey. 

Brian called about then, and Lex took it upon himself to answer my cell for me. "One of your contacts, Brian, just called, but he either hung up or got cut off," he yelled from outside the bathroom door. "Need some Imodium AD?"

In bed that night, Lex fucked me from behind and it hurt. I was still a bit sore from that morning, but I didn't say anything...just turned my wince into a pleasure sigh.

It went on like that for the remainder of June...the time it took for my hickey to disappear completely...the time it took for me to finally look myself in the mirror and ask what the fuck I was doing...the time it took for me to break down and call Brian. He'd stopped calling, emailing, and instant messaging me after the first two weeks, and even though I'd never answered, not once, the altogether absence made me lonely.

I called him from my office at the gallery the first Tuesday in July when I was supposed to be on lunch break. "I can't believe I'm doing this," I said, making sure my office door was locked before climbing into my desk chair.

Brian pretended like I was seriously disturbing his work for about five minutes, but then allowed himself to give in and chat in a marginally civilized fashion.

"So listen," I murmured after a while, speaking in an unnecessarily quiet voice like I was telling a secret. "The gallery I work at will be..." I paused.

"Get it out, please? Sometime this year?"

I thought about saying "nevermind" and hanging up, but pushed on anyway, because I'd fucked up, fucked myself and Brian over so many times that I wasn't doing it again. "I have a show this Friday at the gallery, where I work. I'd...love for you to come."

The line was silent for what seemed like ages, and then, "Friday?"

"Yeah."

"I can possibly arrange that, but under one condition."

"Which is...?"

"You blow off your doting husband and spend the weekend with me."

###

The flight was supposed to land at JFK at four-fifty, but was almost an hour late due to a long wait in the takeoff queue. Brian had looked royally pissed, and I was amazed to hear that he hadn't actually threatened to sue the airline.

"You didn't, but I might," I said, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him with me out of the airport. We hailed a cab, and barely, just barely, made it to the gallery on time.

"You didn't have to meet me," Brian murmured in response to my complaints about how lame it was to be late to your own show, but I ignored him. There were other things to attend to, such as the fact that as long as Alexie was at the gallery, Brian didn't know me. When the coast was clear, he could pounce.

"I'm serious," I breathed, checking myself out in my office mirror and making sure my hair wasn't doing anything stupid. "Please don't fuck this up."

"Now why would I do that?" The look on his face worried me.

#

Lex arrived about twenty minutes after the doors opened, sporting a jacket that made Brian snort with laughter from across the room and carrying a single red rose, which also made Brian snort with laughter from across the room. He kissed me quickly and apologized for being late, saying Phil from work was being a bastard and wouldn't let him leave early. I just shrugged, because I honestly didn't give a shit.

I sold two paintings within the first hour, the second of which Alexie decided to suddenly pout about because he was apparently going to buy it, even though he'd had plenty of advanced time to make an offer. Something told me not to believe him, and therefore I made no objections when the woman with the kind face bought it for two-hundred.

"That guy keeps looking at you," Lex whispered at one point, seeming to come in closer and closer until he was practically inside me, causing my last nerve to threaten to snap in half. It was Brian, of course, and from what I could tell, he was making no secret of checking out my ass from across the room.

"Ignore it."

"But he's totally giving you the eye."

"As long as he buys a painting, he can eye-fuck me as much as he wants."

"So do you usually fuck for sales?" I couldn't tell if Alexie was serious or just teasing, but I looked him dead in the eye and was this close to telling him a thing or two anyway when I felt an arm wrap around my shoulders.

"I want that one," Brian said, pointing toward the huge, turquoise and brown abstract on the back wall...the one I'd been nervous about putting in the show because I was confident it wouldn't sell. It was too bizarre, too jumbled for the gallery's usual customers. "I'll give you two grand."

"Brian," I scolded, twisting out of his arm and giving him a look of disbelief. "That's too much."

"Do you two know each other?" Alexie asked, and I suddenly knew I was fucked. See? I fuck things up. That's what I do. "Oh, wait...Brian. I believe you called a few weeks ago."

"And I believe you answered Justin's phone."

Lex turned to me, trying to keep calm, but I could tell by the tightness in his face that he was erupting inside. "How do you know this man?"

"You're not his keeper, Lexie Boy," Brian said in the most condescending tone I'd ever heard.

"What, and you are?"

"No." And then he just left the conversation and walked over to purchase the abstract.

Alexie acted as if the confrontation with Brian had just been a run-in with one of New York's finest weirdos...as if Brian was a headcase and needed counseling. "I don't know how you know him, Justin, but maybe you need to think about finding mentally stable friends."

I breathed out a pent-up sigh and asked Lex which painting he wanted. He looked at me with a badly disguised "oh shit!" expression, and told me he needed to take another look because his favorite had already been snatched.

And let me tell you, he had.

#

Lex didn't leave until Brian did, and simply whispered that he'd see me at home before sneaking out without purchasing anything. That hurt me, even though it probably shouldn't. It wasn't like I needed for him to buy one of my paintings, but it would've been a nice gesture of support. I'd painted one of the smaller ones specifically for the blank space on the living room wall, and had even told him that one evening when he stopped by my studio, but it ended up selling five minutes before the gallery closed to a Yiddish woman and her son.

Brian called right as I was about to leave and told me he was waiting at the Waldorf, room 423, and that he'd picked up Italian food, a six-hundred dollar bottle of wine, and planned on fucking me into a coma, if not because I looked scorchingly hot that night, but to spite my "motherfucking dickhead boyfriend" who needed a foot up his ass.

On the way to the hotel, I thought about calling Lex, telling him I needed to stay at my studio all night to work, but I knew he'd just insist that he hang out there, too, so I did nothing. If he wanted to know where I was, he could call me.

Brian was popping the cork on the wine when I made it up to the room, feeling heavy and weak under the weight of my messenger bag filled with not only standard art supplies, but a weekend's worth of clothes and a toiletries. 

I didn't know what to say to him. 

What we were doing was obvious...it was blatant that our weekend was going to be spent having sex...but the talking part was hard, especially since the little show Brian and Alexie had put on at the gallery.

I ended up asking something like, "Guess how much I made?" while tossing my bag down on the couch.

"Thirty-two million dollars." Brian filled two glasses with wine and waved me over.

"$4,450, but minus commission, $3,400. Not bad for six pieces, right?"

"Thirty-two million would've been better."

"This is true."

"But I suppose $3,400 isn't bad." He gave me a quick smile and sat down at the tiny little hotel room table. It was pretty much an over-sized card table, and our food and wine glasses were squished together uncomfortably. But it worked.

I sat down, too, and told him I was giving him back a thousand because no matter how good the abstract was, it wasn't worth two grand. Brian looked at me like I'd told him I had two cocks.

"I bought it for two grand."

"And I refuse to sell it for more than one."

"Too bad." He took a bite of spaghetti and turned away.

"If you're trying to give me money, I won't--"

"I bought the painting for two grand. The end."

I quietly thanked him before changing the subject.

#

We mostly talked about work as we ate, sticking to the safe and straying from the dangerous. My cell phone vibrated a couple times from text messages but I was too afraid to look.

"Want me to--" Brian offered, outstretching a hand toward my bag. I told him "no" and continued eating.

When we were done, I trashed our paper plates and dug out my phone from the bottom of my messenger. One text was from Daphne, asking about my show, the other was from Lex, who apparently had a sexy thing or two he wanted to do to me when I got home. I turned off my cell and shoved it back in my bag.

"Was this what it was like with him?" Brian asked, catching my conflicted face and sighing as I rid myself of the phone.

"No," I told him simply, meeting him at the bed and pulling off my shirt. "I don't think I ever really loved him."

#

The two of us sat in bed like two teenagers afraid to go in for the first kiss. We talked some...mostly about things of little to no significance, but it wasn't until the quiet moments that we allowed ourselves to be more intimate. 

It started when Brian reached over to stroke my hair. His fingers sifted through the strands, electricity shooting between us with so much intensity it was almost visible. 

"Justin?"

"Hm?" I leaned in to his touch.

"What happened?" His face was red, mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say more...like words were right on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't get them out...like I was expected to unscrew the top of his head, reach in, and snatch the thoughts from his brain. He turned away.

"I fucked up."

He stared at me for a long time, and then, in one swift movement, pressed me flat on my back and crushed his mouth against mine. 

The kiss was intense, like Brian was set on doing all the work and I was to just lie there with my mouth open. His tongue fucking assaulted my mouth, pushing against mine, slipping along my teeth and gums and every surface it could reach. I pulled his face harder and harder and harder against my face until our noses were aching from being squished together and I was confident our mouths couldn't get any closer unless we actually crawled inside each other.

"Does he do that to you?" Brian asked between kisses, reaching down to cup my hardening cock through my slacks. "Hm? Can he kiss you like this? Make you fucking crazy?"

I had to pull away for a second because otherwise, I'd lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. But after that second was up, Brian's mouth was on mine again and we were kissing, kissing, kissing so hard it was painful and I knew we'd wake up the next morning with sore lips. I almost cried the kisses were so good.

"More," I murmured, pushing my growing erection against his massaging hand. Fireworks were shooting off inside my body and I thought I'd scream.

But then the kisses slowed. I looked up at him in confusion, but he looked down at me in total confidence. "I won't fucking let you go again," he whispered, as if giving me assurance, voice slightly tremoring with nerves. "If you come back, it's for good." I almost expected an "I promise."

I swallowed, body shaking from arousal, but said nothing. Brian was pleading with me. He was pleading...saying things that eight years ago would've solved all my problems and made me blissfully happy. But this time, I couldn't help but feel sad.

"Stop," I breathed, reaching up to stroke the hairs at the nape of his neck. His eyes scanned my face, searching for answers. "Don't try to make this your fault."

Brian climbed off me, flopped down on the other side of the bed, and I twisted to see him. He looked like a little boy...a frustrated, confused, hurt little boy. His cheeks were feverish red and eyes squeezed shut, and I didn't know what to do for him. I asked him to talk to me, reached over and rubbed at his chest, then his belly, then gave up and collapsed on top of him.

It occurred to me that I could cry if I allowed myself. The tears were waiting in the ducts to spill over and it would only take a minute, a second, to close my eyes and just let them fall. But I didn't. It wasn't my place to be upset. 

I was the one who'd screwed up. I was the one who should've been saying, "I'll never leave you again...this time's forever..." Not Brian. Not the man who'd done nothing, fucking nothing to deserve being left like I'd left him. 

We'd almost gotten married. We'd pissed each other off for seven years straight...pissed each other off, fucked up and made up... We'd loved each other. Brian had loved me so selflessly, so achingly wholly, and dare I say it, innocently, and I'd toyed with that. I'd allowed myself to be drawn in by someone close-by just because he was near...just because he was nice to me and comforted me when I was homesick. I'd fallen for Lex in New York, while Brian was waiting on me in Pittsburgh. And fuck, I had so casually told him about Alexie...like he wouldn't care...like he had no feelings at all. 

Goddammit, I'd been fucking stupid.

I rubbed at my face, pressing a tear out of my eye but swiping it away before it strayed too far. I whispered Brian's name, pushing my nose into the warm fabric of his T-shirt and inhaling his gentle, masculine scent. He was turned on his side, facing the opposite direction and twisting the corner of the bed sheet 'round and 'round his finger.

"Hey," I murmured, slipping a hand up under his shirt and rubbing at his side. I wanted to be of comfort, but he shrugged me away, so I climbed out of bed and went to take a shower. Sometimes he needed space, and frankly, so did I.

#

Brian was digging in the spaghetti box when I returned. He had a plastic fork and was eating right out of the styrofoam container, and if I didn't know him like I did, I would've thought it was rather out of character.

"Do you want me to leave?" I asked, running a hand through my damp hair and trying to avoid his eyes. 

He shook his head 'no.'

"Good. Because I won't...ever again."

Something passed between us, and the next thing I knew, he was snatching an extra fork from the plastic bag on our little card table and making his way to the bed. I had to smile a little as I joined him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, accepting the fork and spearing a meatball. "I know it's not that easy and I know we still have shit to sort...I have shit to sort...but for what it's worth, I was a total bastard and I a--"

"Sorry's bullshit."

I looked at him. "Not when you've hurt someone."

We ate in silence for what felt like a year, and then, on a whim, I decided to say something else. "And by the way," I murmured, tossing my fork in the nearest wastebasket and sighing, "I love you. Just so you know."

I could've sworn Brian smiled for a second, but then it was gone. He forked the last meatball, studied it briefly, and then held it up to my lips.

"...the fuck are you doing?" I asked with a half-laugh, opening my mouth all the same. Brian shoved the meatball inside, and in the blink of an eye, replaced the fork with his own mouth.

I tried to chew while he kissed at my lips in quick little pecks, but it was too difficult to do so without choking to death, so I pressed two fingers to his lips, finished the meatball, and lunged at him.

"You make me crazy," I whispered sexily, pulling him on top and wrapping a leg around his waist. "Only you."

It was a rushed frenzy to rid ourselves of all clothing - Brian's lounge wear and my PJs - but the annoyingly necessary act was simply a blip on the radar compared to what followed. Brian palmed my hair, kissing me gently, running his free hand up and down my side before moving it between my legs.

"Don't know how I'm gonna get my shit together," I pushed out, growing hard at Brian's gentle touch. He sucked at my neck and told me to shut up.

We were amazing. We were perfect and infinite and beautiful in our clumsiness. The sex was slow. It was slow and sweet...soft to the point of bringing tears.

"I fucking missed you," Brian breathed into my neck, opening his mouth to suck my skin between his lips. His hips were a constant rolling, push and pull, as he moved in me, drawing a deep, lazy burn up and out. A slow burn that started in my heart and crawled through my veins, circulating from head to toe.

I breathed in deep, these short, gaspy sounds escaping my throat each time Brian pressed further inside. "Missed you," I somehow managed to voice, nibbling at his shoulder as he leaned in close. He tasted the same, he smelled the same, but he felt...better.

We kissed at each other, touching, stroking, pushing and pulling before ultimately erupting together...this beautiful, sweet, wet release that felt like a thousand years of pent-up intimacy. 

###

"When are you going back?" I asked Brian later, climbing back in bed after switching off the lights. 

He pulled me into his side and sniffed at my hair. "Red-eye flight Sunday."

Goodbyes were the worst, and I told him so while gently kissing his chest. Brian nodded, but said it wouldn't be a goodbye if I actually flew my magnificent ass down to Pittsburgh more than once a year.

"Planes go both ways, believe it or not," I murmured with a grin. "But I know."

We kissed for a few minutes, then Brian pushed me onto my back and leaned across my body to grab a condom and lube from the bedside table.

"I'll be back," I told him for the second time in three years. "New York is temporary."

"If you place our hands on each other's hearts and say, 'this isn't,' I'll throw up."

"You were totally thinking that," I laughed, grabbing him by the chin and playfully kissing his mouth.

He shrugged me away, face straight, and began to fidget with the lube bottle. 

"Did you bring your computer?" I asked, taking the condom packet from him and spinning it between my fingers. We somehow found ourselves huddled together, backs to the headboard.

He nodded.

"I might need it tomorrow...to look up apartments and stuff."

Brian stared at me in the dark for a long time, and I think it was only then that Everything Else suddenly hit us. Everything Else didn't matter, never really fucking did, but it was still there and eventually needed to be dealt with. 

But it was okay, because it would be dealt with. It'd work out like it was supposed to. Everything always does.

Brian kissed my neck and grabbed hold of the condom. He seemed to contemplate it for a second, almost opened the package, but then pressed it back into my palm. 

"Brian?" I asked, stroking down his back...making sure. He simply nodded, handed me the lube as well, and rolled onto his stomach.

#

"Hey," he murmured, once I was ready to enter him, voice so soft it almost wasn't there.

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too. Just so you know."


End file.
